Shadows
by Camel in the Arctic
Summary: A young Aragorn travels into the Old Forest on the borders of Buckland, he soon finds that he is being stalked by an ancient evil that has awoken after many millenia, read and review!
1. Chapter 1

**Shadows** - Horns of the West

**A/N - **Hi, it's Horns of the West here - originally Camel in the Arcti...meh, things change...anyways, here is my story, hope you enjoy it - for a more completed version please visit 1 - Aurëil 

Strider pulled the hood of his cloak further down his face and hovered in the doorway. It was raining outside. A soft, silvery drizzle sifted down from the night sky, wreathing down around the roofs of the houses of Bree and hissing in the dying torches that lined the glistening cobbles. Somewhere, far off, thunder rolled. A gauzy mist clung low to the ground, curling up the sides of the tightly packed, half-timbered stone houses that arched over the streets, and rippling in the moist breeze. Thunder rolled again – closer this time, and then the eerie silence of midnight descended on the sleeping village. From behind the iron-grey clouds thin shafts of the moon's pale light broke out, spotlighting the roofs below. Strider shuddered in the bitter wind and a flower of cold breath unfurled from the depths of his cowl, hung for a moment in the cold air ere being torn away by the wind. With a furtive glance at the overcast sky above Strider ran out from under his shelter and disappeared into the sea of mist.

They called it the Old Forest, though its age far surpassed 'old', it stood on the borders of Buckland of the Shire, but once - a long, long time ago - it had stretched far over the lands of Eriador, even reaching so far as the forests of Fangorn. However, the decay of time and the destruction of industry had diminished it, twisted it into a place of hatred and mistrust where few dared enter. The woods hadn't always been this way, in times of old they had been a place of joy, Elves had walked there, singly sweetly on the evening breeze; the tree-herds walked among them, teaching and learning and shepherding their flocks. But something happened, something that none now alive could remember; a shadow had entered those woods, forced the Elves out, corrupted the trees, made them unruly and dangerous until their herders couldn't control them and they too left leaving the once great woods all but alone.

The young ranger came to a halt outside the forest, he looked up at the gaunt trees that loomed up into the tempestuous skies, he had been in there once in his many years and it had not been an experience he was in a hurry to repeat – but the answers he required were in there somewhere…

He scrambled through the brambles and half jumped, half fell into the woods beyond. There was already a chilling divergence from the word outside, the woods were deathly quiet, no rain or light fell within the tightly knit trees, the skeletal canopy far, far above was too dense. There was just a thin, shred-like mist that clung low about the gnarled trunks.

Lowering his hood, Strider looked around; tall, thin grass tickled his fingers as he walked slowly forward and vast, glistening cobwebs stuck to his face. He walked for three or four miles in silence, occasionally a crow would caw loudly overhead making him jump, but apart from that and the squelch of his boots on the sodden leaves he didn't see or hear anything.

It must have been three or four hours after Strider had first stepped into the woods, at first he thought that he was just seeing things – a shadow in the corner of his eye, but whenever he turned around to see if there was anything there, it was gone. He tried to ignore it at first but after about a half hour it seemed to be growing bigger and then disappearing ere Strider could see. The ranger knew he was being played with...

Once or twice he thought he heard footsteps to his left, sometimes to his right, but there was never anything there, Strider closed a steady hand around the hilt of his sword and slowed his pace until he was creeping silently along the leaves; in all his years of wandering alone in the wilderness there had been little that had worried him, but this shadow that dogged his very steps was making him anxious.

He walked on in silence, his hand now resting on the pommel of the sword strapped to his waist; he walked on in silence for an hour trying to the ignore the shadow that beleaguered him but its stalking was continuous and irksomely just out of the reach of his sight. The woods now seemed, if possible, darker than ever, whatever shreds of moonlight had pierced the canopy some while back had now all but disappeared and the trees now stood in an eerie half-light. And after another half hour Strider was forced into reaching for his tinderbox and lighting a torch to help him through the gathering darkness.

The mist that had swirled around his feet as he walked had thickened, reaching up to his waist, curling up around his arms and reddening in the ruddy glow of his flickering torch.

Another hour passed – maybe two, the ranger suspected that dawn would soon break, but within the dark labyrinth of trees there seemed no sign of light, he must have been wandering for a good eight or nine hours without rest and suddenly he felt very, very weary. He would have to find somewhere to sleep for a while but the forest all around looked unwelcoming and not to mention the shadow that was dogging his trail.

Strider carried on for another half hour, expecting all the while for the first rays of sunlight to break through the treetops – but it never did, if anything the place seemed only to darken and become colder.

Suddenly the ranger's senses peaked and he drew his sword in one fluid movement, the blade glowed red in the torchlight. There was something out there: he knew it, the shadow on the edge of his vision, the faint footsteps following…he wasn't alone. Lowering the flickering torch, Strider let his elf-trained eyes adjust to the murky dark of the forest, and looked slowly around.

"_Aragorn…_" Strider turned sharply…...there was a little girl. Pale and fair, but cold - like a spring morning still clinging to winter's chill, her long black hair reached almost to her bare toes and despite the coldness of the forest she was clothed only in a wispy white dress. Strider could tell at once that she was an elfling.

The Dunedain lowered his sword; the young elf didn't present much of a threat to the strong ranger but he didn't sheath it completely – his time in Rivendell had shown him what powers the elves truly possessed.

"Who are you?" he asked her cautiously.

"_Aurëil_," the she-elfling answered, her voice was soft and mellow, but full of sadness, the very sound made the hardy man's heart wrench.

"What are you doing here alone, Aurëil?"

"_I am always alone now…_"

"Why? Where are all your kin?"

"_They are gone, to the West..._"

Strider knew what that meant; he said a little prayer in the back of his head. He knelt down and looked into the girl's big, blue eyes, "I am sorry, little one," he whispered with all the kindness he knew.

"_Do not grieve their passing, you knew them not…you carry too much sorrow already, do not burden yourself more so…_" she patted Strider's shoulder gently but the touch was like ice, and in that second's contact, when the thin shapely hand, like the shoot of a new flower, brushed the rangers body there was pain: images flashed before Aragorn's eyes, memories from his past, his father – hewn roughly by hill-trolls until his body, broken and torn was set upon a pike and the grass beneath ran red with his blood – a woman, his own mother, driven mad by grief and burden cast herself from the cliffs about Rivendell and lay there until he had gone looking for her and found the crows picking at her swollen body – a small girl, captured by orcs and ravaged and beaten until she was red with pain and black with shame, a frail, unspoilt child suddenly tainted by the foulest creatures weeping for death until the fell carrion monsters of Morgoth consumed her living flesh…

Strider cried out in anguish and jumped back, his sword in his hand again ready to face the elfling, but when he looked up she was gone, only the mist and the shadows of the Old Forest were with him and the coldness of the Aurëil's touch and the memories of sorrow that had been recovered…


	2. Chapter 2

Strider opened his eyes and cast a shaking hand over them, he had slept little – the woods would have made sure of that alone but the dark memories of his dark past had beleaguered him through his sleep, memories well hidden ere the elfling Aurëil had come to him. Shuddering absently, the ranger gathered his pack – one hand all the time on the pommel of his sword and one eye all the time on the shadows of the Old Forest – then, when he was done, he pulled out his pipe and searched for a suitable rock on which to sit and think.

There was no going back, he thought gloomily as he settled down, or going forward for that matter – though it shamed him to admit but the skilled ranger had completely lost his bearings, with no sun to be seen he could not determine which direction he was headed; and the worst thing – something Strider would be certain his elven friend Legolas would surely scold him – was the fact that the whole forest looked so alike. He blew a smoke ring that wavered in the darkness ere being torn away on the wind.

From somewhere in the deep shadows there was an eerie, wavering noise, unlike any creature he had heard before – if it was indeed a creature. Strider looked again for his tinderbox and lit a branch and in his circle of reddish light he sat in deep thought for a while, trying hard to ignore the disconcerting calls from the darkness.

He would have to find the girl, he thought, if there was anything that could be sure in these woods it was that she would have some answers for him – it would be near futile, however, to try and search for her, though the Old Forest had long dwindled it was still extensive and the darkness made things hard threefold…but ere he could even start to think of where he would start he heard soft footsteps on the leaves. In one movement the ranger was on his feet, sword in hand. There she was. Like a pale light glimmering through the trees she came, softly she sang in the Quenya tongue which Strider could not understand, with her came three shadows skipping and skirting around her little body, of what these three shadows were the ranger could not tell – and when the little girl stepped lightly into the circle of ruddy light emanating from his torch they faded and were gone from her.

Strider didn't move; his sword was at arm's length, pointing at the seemingly harmless girl. She stepped forward slightly and the ranger took a step back, "Stay back, I do not wish to hurt you – but if you near me I shall,"

"_You have no reason to harm me, Aragorn_," – and Strider wondered for the second time how she knew his real identity – "_and I have no reason to harm you_,"

"Who are you?" the ranger asked the she-elfling for a second time.

"_Aurëil_," replied Aurëil calmly, in the same sorrowful voice.

Strider lowered his sword and knelt down – still keeping his distance from the girl, "What are you? Why are you here?" – Strider had so many questions that begged for answers that he didn't know what to ask first – "What were those shadows that were with you? What -"

He stopped, Aurëil had moved forward and laid a thin, shapely finger over his lips – it was cold to the touch; the ranger tried to move back, but something in the girl's deep, blue eyes held him where he was.

"_Hush, child_," she said softly, "_you have many questions and they will all be answered_…" she broke off and stood silently looking into the man's eyes – something that greatly unnerved the ranger.

She removed the finger from his lips and kissed him lightly on the forehead, Strider looked up at her and whispered: "Tell me why you are here alone, little lady, tell me – "

She stopped him again with her thin finger and touched his face gently, "_I will show you_," she said so softly it was a strain for Aragorn to hear her.

"How?" he asked naively as the girl bent her head and touched her forehead to his.

The darkness blurred into light and Strider found himself again in the forest – but it was different, he could hear birds in the trees above, feel the sunlight on his face as it spotlighted the forest floor through the high, green canopy; Aurëil was there as well, but she too was different – her face was full of colour and joy and she was dressed in a pale green dress rather than ghostly white, he reached out to touch her but she was always just out of reach somehow, he called her name but she did not turn round.

There was a rustle in a tree to the side and Strider reached for his sword but it wasn't there…out of an unusual parental urge he bought himself between the rustling foliage and the small elf girl – as if to protect her from what may come.

It was an elf. An adult, if Strider was any judge – but with elves it was so hard to determine their actual age – what the ranger did guess, however, was that this elf was in someway related to the small elf girl as the similarity in their faces was striking. Strider opened his moth to speak but he couldn't get any words out; the elf – a female – was walking towards them, bow in hand, arrow cocked. She kept glancing at the forest.

"What is wrong, naneth?" Aurëil asked her mother in a voice so different, it sounded happy and rich but at the same time full of adult concern,

"They are coming, child…they are almost here – you must leave now," replied Aurëil's mother hurriedly, she kept glancing at the woods all around – Strider looked too but there wasn't anything different about them from when he last looked.

"Who? Who are coming, naneth?" asked Aurëil urgently.

"Yrch!" she cried in answer, "Go, child, go!"

Orcs! Strider was groping for his missing sword again but it was hopeless, he scanned the woods, all senses alert and suddenly he heard them: the harsh, jeering voices of the vilest creatures…orcs.

The ranger turned back to Aurëil and her mother, the elder elf was helping her daughter into a tree, keeping her out of sight…

"Naneth…" Aurëil whimpered as he mother turned and drew her sword, the orcish laughter was nearing.

"I love you, Aurëil," cried the elfling's mother, glistening tears running down her cheeks.

Three suddenly orcs burst into the clearing where Strider, Aurëil and her mother were standing; the first fell under the elvish blade and was left writhing in the blackened, blood soaked grass, the second held back until another five fell beasts followed, cackling and taunting the she-elf.

Strider wanted to help, but he couldn't – he had tried to tackle the first orc, but to his surprise and dismay he had passed straight through it, the orc hadn't noticed and had kept attacking.

Now he was stood by Aurëil's tree, he couldn't see the elfling but he knew she was up there, being silent as her mother had wished.

Three more of the orcs had fallen, their black blood staining the grass and the she-elf's blade and hands, but there were more coming into the clearing, jeering and laughing in their hideous voices.

Strider heard the bowstring sing; he turned his head and saw the she-elf blanch, a black shaft had struck her in the breast and the blunt, rusted point had come out of her back. The green cloth she wore darkened as her blood spread from the wound.

Another orc to a swing and she fell to the floor with a wide gash in her side, more bright, scarlet blood gushed forth, though her fingers as she held her chest, running down her body in a crimson deluge, onto the grass where it mingled with the black orcish blood there.

The elf's eyes glazed and she toppled to the floor – Strider did not look away from this incredibly brave mother, giving up her life for the protection of her child, Aurëil; he said a quiet prayer for her – another orc hew her again, spilling more elvish blood onto the floor, and again the orc blades fell, and again and again, cleaving the elf though she was long dead…

Strider clenched his fists; a new hatred had arisen in him for the orc-kind, but that was all forgotten when he heard, from the tree above, a small sob – Aurëil was weeping, watching her mother being cruelly hacked by the orcs cruel blades.

The world wavered again and light turned to dark; Strider was back in the dark woods he had been in before – but then again he had never really left. He looked at the elf-child sadly and said: "I am so very sorry, Aurëil," but she shook her thin head, said nothing and tightly embraced the ranger, Strider hesitated and then hugged her back, a lone tear running down his cheek.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **To everyone who reviews this, thank you!

Oh and my other site – Stories Of Arda . Com holds the more completed version of this story – so go on there and review – go on, y pen name is Horns of the West! 

Strider carefully looked down over the cliff face, his elf-trained eyes glinting in spring's morning sun; below he could make out the small party of orcs he and his companions had been tracking across Eregion for several days – all the way from the most westerly reaches of the Misty Mountains.

He made a small signal with his left hand to the opposite cliff side and a concealed ranger there drew his bow silently, the point darkened to stop it reflecting the sun's light. Strider drew his own bow carefully and aimed the three-foot arrow downwards at the orcs, his right eye closed to perfect his aim.

With a sharp hiss he released the raven-feathered shaft and hid himself once more in the sparse grasses of his hiding place, listening for the answering whistle of his group's own arrows and the cries of the orcs from below. He strained his ears for the familiar sounds of an ambush and grinned to himself as he heard them, and then drawing his hood over his face he looked back down at his prey.

Few of the orcs that had survived the initial bombardment remained, they fled to save their own hides for another day – but one or two braver Uruks had run for cover as their comrades had fallen around them, and they were now searching the skies above for their attackers, their fiery eyes dimmed by the sun.

The ranger smiled to himself again and drew his sword and, with another quick hand motion to the once again hidden rangers, he silently moved down the shallow cliff face, moving slowly so not to disturb any of the loose shingle. He dropped to the scrubby grass below and bent his tall frame slightly to move quickly and quietly towards his quarry. He picked up the faintest of noises as another ranger took to the ground – but only because his ears had been in the company of elves for so long – he neared the first orc, a great ugly brute, wide shouldered and long-armed, and in his hand he held a cruel blade, gleaming dully in the sun. The creature was shining with sweat and spittle and his thick red tongue lolled out of his fanged mouth as he struggled against the sun's light. This one would be an easy kill.

Strider rushed the orc suddenly and caught him unawares, with a gurgle the headless orc collapsed, his black blood spreading over the scrub. The ranger heard the surprised squeal of another of the orcs as it fell to another Northman's blade. Tugging down the hood of his cloak, Strider looked around to make sure his party had fully dispatched the remaining orcs; he smiled approvingly at their work, four orcs – including the one he himself had slain – were dragged into view, all were cleanly decapitated.

The ranger's piled the carcasses of their ambush into a heap in the middle of the basin of the two cliff faces and set them alight. The four separate heads were set upon their own cruel pikes as a warning. The foul smelling, black smoke rose in a thick plume, but an unexpected gust of wind, however, sent the smoke down the channel like a chimney and its putrid darkness swept over the party of rangers, blocking out the sun and sky.

Strider could hear his men panicking and barked several curt orders before he pulled his cloak around his face, masking his mouth and nose from the smell, his eyes stung and watered – forcing him to close them.

A short moment of silence passed and then the smoke cleared, exposing to Strider his red-eyed, coughing rangers, he exhaled thankfully and went over to them.

A noise, akin to the tearing of silk, and a painful rush of air passed him; he turned swiftly to identify the cause of the noise – though he had already identified it as arrow-fire – but he could not see past the veil of smoke that had swept down the channel.

"Cover!" he cried and leapt for the safety of the rocky cliff face, he saw his rangers do the same as more arrows screamed through the air towards them. Despairingly he saw one of his companions fall under the hail of black shafts, he fell awkwardly, blood spluttering from his mouth.

Strider looked out from his rock, the smoke had finally cleared – and he saw another group of orcs filling the far end of the thin chasm – he counted twenty before he had to duck back behind cover as another wave of arrows clattered around him. One orc, evidently the captain of the rabble, was mounted on a wiry warg.

Strider pulled out his bow, and heard his party do the same as they watched him. He cocked an arrow ready and leapt up, his arrow left straight but his hasty aim went awry and the ranger's first shot skitted uselessly against the rocks, his comrades had no better luck – out of the ten arrows fired only three found their mark. The wails of the hit orcs echoed around the rocks but were cut short by another screaming volley of orcish arrows. Strider saw another of his rangers fall under that wave, a crude arrow sprouting from his head, his eyes wide in surprise and red with flowing blood.

The rangers fired again and managed to thin the orc archers, but Strider's first estimate seemed less than accurate, more of the filthy creatures were pouring into the bottleneck of the channel. Several broke away from their captain's formation and ran leering at the waiting rangers; Strider sent an arrow into one's neck and was splattered by its steaming black blood.

Strider risked another glance at his attackers; another warg had arrived and was pacing backwards and forwards, barking its hunger. It charged straight at him. The beast leapt the rock and was bearing down on the ranger when he was pushed roughly out of the way by another of his men, the warg – not caring who its victim was – grabbed the faithful ranger with its powerful jaws and tugged him away from Strider.

Strider could not block out the cries of pain as his savoir was taken to the wicked hands of the orcs and dealt with in evil ways. Strider looked up from behind his rock and saw the orcs tearing at the ranger, and then the two wargs grabbed him and began a grotesque tug-of-war with his limp body. An indescribable noise signified the ripping of his body and Strider flinched as he saw his faithful companion's innards being fought over by the foulest of creatures…

Strider awoke and cried out in anguish at his dream – it was a painful memory that he had tried to forget…he looked up and gasped in surprise, Aurëil, the elf-child was standing over him, she looked down at him and before he could speak, she spun away lightly, her hair flowing about her – she laughed and disappeared into the mist.

The ranger looked around him wearily, his hand on his sword. He looked after the elfling in wonder and fear; the look in her eyes as he had awoken had been disturbing, her face contorted into a hungry, greedy sneer and her eyes dark and empty like the depths of the Void.

He passed a shaking hand over his aching eyes and let out a shuddered breath – what was this forest, that girl, doing to him?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks to everyone backing this story! The next chapter will be along shortly – sorry for the delay.**

**Shadows **

**Chapter 4 – Through the Fog**

Strider opened his eyes cautiously and shifted his grip on his sword. The fire he had lit for himself had long burned out while he had slept and he awoke in gloom. The thick fog that had carpeted the forest's floor had thickened dramatically and now he was completely enveloped in it. It clung to him with a bitter coldness that reached to his bones.

Wearily the ranger pulled himself up and searched for his tinderbox, he couldn't find it. Normally it would have been secure in his pack but it was missing – he cursed the elf-girl for that. He took a blind step forward and stumbled on something invisible in the fog – he fell and cracked the side of his head on a rock, he could feel the warmth of his blood trickle down the side of his face and taste the bitterness of it in his mouth.

He searched the ground with his hands for his pack again but that too had disappeared into the thick, heavy blanket. He stopped groping blindly and drew his hands back to his body and once again took a grip on the reassuring hilt of his father's sword.

Strider's eyes drooped but he struggled against his fatigue, ever since he had first took into this forest he had felt somehow drained – and now, though he had no proof to support his accusation, he blamed Aurëil. The elf-girl had not returned to him since he had awoken after a nightmare to find her bearing greedily down on him, that had been three days ago and she had melted into the forest as quickly as she had appeared to him. However, when the ranger was quiet and some manner of peace returned to him he would sometimes hear her soft voice singing on the frigid breeze. It was a noise that haunted him.

Another, much different noise to his left bought him immediately out of his sluggishness; it was a low growl that he instantly recognized as that of a warg. Despite his inability to see much more than a foot in front of his own face the ranger was on his feet with his sword in both hands ready to fend off the unseen creature – without the aid of fire or indeed sight this would be no easy task.

A second growl from behind him spun Strider around; his sword held at arm's length. There were two of them, in the openness of Eregion two wargs would have not posed much of a threat to the ranger but here in the darkness of this wretched forest things would be different.

He thought he saw a pair of gleaming eyes ahead of him but they disappeared into the white swirling fog as quickly as he had seen them. His ears pricked as he heard movement to his right, another warg; that made three – probably more; probably a pack that had strayed into the forest and had been snared here like him.

Suddenly they howled into the night, their long, high pitched voices breaking through the fog where it chilled the ranger to the bone. Something brushed past him and he turned and lunged with his sword – it snagged uselessly on the leaf-ridden ground, when he turned again he turned straight into the face of one of his invisible stalkers – a warg, bigger than any other the well-traveled ranger had seen, its great shaggy head high enough to look him in they eye. The brute snarled and Strider felt the hot, sticky breath on his face, slowly he reached for his sword to thrust it into the monster's throat, but it moved quickly and pinned him to the ground with astonishing strength. Its claws raked across his chest, slicing his tunic and cutting his flesh.

Strider closed his eyes, knowing the end had come for him, to the halls of his fathers he would soon travel. His last thoughts swept past his eyes in a string of images; his elven brothers, his friend, Legolas, his father Elrond, his mother and finally Arwen – his love, her thin, pale face more beautiful and sad than the moon, her river of long, black hair that fell to the small of her back, her slender hands that touched him with a love he would never experience elsewhere…

"_Who is she_?"

Strider's eyes snapped open as the familiar voice intruded on his thoughts; Aurëil was standing above him, her small face almost mirroring the one he had just been thinking of.

"_She reminds me of my naneth; who is she_?" she asked again. Strider didn't answer but leapt up, both hands securely round the girl's thin shoulders, he looked round quickly for the wargs, drawing the girl close to him as though to protect her – but then he remembered his suspicions and pushed her away.

"What are you doing to me?" he cried, fumbling for his sword again.

"_Who is the lady in your dreams_?" asked the girl for a third time in her sad, cold voice.

"Answer me, she-elf!"

Aurëil said nothing but moved forwards towards him, she was stopped on the point of his sword. "_Would you kill me, Aragorn_?" she asked, placing a thin finger on the blade; the ranger was shocked to see a point of frost appear where her finger touched.

Strider silently shook his head and carefully lowered the sword, he remembered the wargs and looked around again, "Where did - ?"

The elfling touched his hand, "_They will not return_," she smiled up at him, "_until they are called_,"

"By whom?" the ranger knelt to look the girl in the eye,

"_Me_." She replied calmly, to Strider's surprise.

"You?" he replied slowly, "But – ", again Aurëil stopped him before he could finish, "_Do not concern yourself with such things, child, they are beyond your comprehension at this time_," she laughed with her sweet laugh but the words had come scornfully.

Strider had taken a small step backwards, away from the girl until she was barely visible through the fog; she seemed different to him, somehow – much more menacing, more dangerous. He gripped his sword until his bones showed white through his hand – if needs be he would slay the little sorceress; it would not be the first time he would have had to kill a child…

_Nigh on three years, in the wastes of Rhudaur, just north of his father's haven. After tracking a band of orcs for five days and nights he came across their foul grovel. Littered with rotting corpses, half-eaten creatures…the smell was nauseating…_

_The orcs were killed in the ambush and their foul bodies burned. _

_He had searched deeper into their lair – into their dark pits where they practiced their cruelty; cells were filled with half-alive things…men, elves, dwarves – even orcs, subjected to their own kin's spite. _

_But it was in the deepest, darkest hole where he had found him. A boy – hardly out of childhood – bound to a stake; marks of torture, of consumption and rape were vivid on his frail body. His eyes were lost to the rank fingers of the orcs and his face was crusted with blood._

_He had gone to the child and tried to comfort him – but there could be no condolence for this tainted spirit and all he begged for was release from the pain._

_And he was given it swiftly…_

Strider blinked and tried to remain focused, the girl was still before him, smiling. The ranger shuddered but still held her gaze. "_You have suffered much, child,_" she said calmly stepping around the man's raised blade, "_But tell me, for I wish to know, who is the lady in your thoughts_?"

Strider fixed her with a hard gaze and gave in, "She is Arwen Undomiel, fairest of all the First-born – even more so than Luthien herself, and I am bound to her…"

The small girl said nothing for a time, her eyelids fluttering as she thought, "_Her sire is the Peredhil_?" she asked suddenly.

Strider answered cautiously, not knowing where this conversation about Arwen and his foster-father would take him.

Aurëil frowned slightly in thought and looked back up at Strider, her small, thin face worried: "He _knows of the Peredhil_," she said nervously,

"Who? Many people know of my ada," asked the ranger, surprised to see such fear in her face.

"He _does, _He_, knows everything_…" she said shuddering, her dark eyes now darting about the fog; Strider could tell something was wrong. He knelt to her and brushed her hair away from her face, "Who is this 'He', Aurëil?" he asked

The elfling opened her mouth to speak, but then shook her head worriedly.

"Who is this person you speak of?" Strider shook her slightly, taking advantage of her state to claim some long-needed answers.

"_I cannot say! _He _will know…_He _always knows_…"

Strider took hold of her face and asked again, not heeding her fear.

"_No! Please…_" the elfling began to weep into the man's hands, "He _will hurt me if _He _finds out_…"

"I will protect you from him, Aurëil, just tell me!" the ranger urged,

"_Not from _Him, _not from the one who has kept me here, the one who took away my right to feel, the one who bought Shadow upon these woods…_" the girl sobbed, her face changed with fear.

"Who, who is this person?"

Aurëil stopped crying suddenly and removed Strider's hands from her face, she looked at him hardly, "He _calls me back – I must go._" She turned, her hair flowing behind her.

"No! Wait! Who? Who is this you speak of? Tell me!" Strider started after the girl but stopped when she turned slowly: "_The Fatherless one…_" she whispered and disappeared into the fog…

**TBC**


End file.
